“I don’t hate people.”
I raised my eyebrows and won a rare smirk.
“I don’t. They just make me uncomfortable.”
“I don’t make you uncomfortable.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I do?”
He nodded and my smile dimmed. “But I like you. I like the awkward way you push into my space. It’s nice to know someone cares enough to break my boundaries.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “Royal’s not the only one who loves you… I hope you know that.”
He picked up my hand in his. Staring at the way his large fingers swallowed mine, he said, “I know.” He cleared his throat again. “There’s more to Kai than I think anyone cares to notice. Maybe he ignores you because he’s afraid you’ll notice.”
Royal hadn’t told me much about his best friend. But I wasn’t blind. Kai was the guy who walked into the room and every girl noticed. Tall and broad, that violet aura, dangerous with dark eyes that promised things they shouldn’t. He was hard to miss. Even when he swam, he commanded the water to his will, more so than even my brother could. He was the kind of guy who stood up and fought for his friend; he harnessed strength, bled it dry, and gifted it to others. Without his help last semester, I wondered if Camden and Royal would have ever had a chance. Maybe Camden was right, and his indifference was purposeful, but it was too late, I’d already noticed the way he wore bravado like I held a paint brush. It was a safety net and there was a weakness in me, the same low voice that told me I was alone, I was invisible. And I craved the strength he so readily gave to others.
“Maybe,” I agreed, ignoring the blanket of silence that had covered us.
Camden’s phone chirped and his lips spread in a slow smile, his cheeks turning a shade of pink only my brother was capable of creating.
“Practice was good?” I asked, and Camden nodded, reading the screen of his phone.
“Yeah, he apologized for being late, said to meet him at Beckett in five minutes.” Camden sat up and tapped out a message.
I shouldn’t have, but I looked at the screen.
I miss you, too. Stay with me tonight.
Quickly, I averted my eyes, both embarrassed that I’d eavesdropped on such an intimate sentence, and wistful, wondering if one day I’d be lucky enough to have such an invitation.
Kai
The elevator smelled like piss, thick and overpowering, and I wondered what the hell I was doing here. My shoulder ached, and my ears hadn’t stopped ringing with my mom’s worried voice.
“It’s for the best. You… You have to stop, stop trying so hard to be perfect, baby. You can’t hold on to every thread when you’re stretched so thin. You’ll break… you’re breaking…” Her voice had cracked, and I’d done all I could to prove her wrong. I’d kept silent. Holding in my anger, like always. She deserved none of it. “You’re not the same.”
The same. Same as what? I’d wanted to ask. I couldn’t reconcile her definition. Captain. Son. Best friend. Smart. Loved. Same didn’t fucking apply to me anymore. The only idea I tried to hold on to as the pinch in my rotator cuff screamed, you are definitely not the same, was the word sober. I wouldn’t graduate like I’d wanted, like I should have been able to next summer. I wouldn’t lead my swim team to any more victories, and I sure as hell wouldn’t support my mother’s decision to let him back into her life. Sober had become my same, or the closest thing to it. A clear head was the only way I’d be able to find my way out of the mess I’d made of my life. At least, that’s what I kept reminding myself every time my mouth felt dry, and the weight I struggled to hold threatened to sink me. I exhaled an irritated breath, already annoyed with myself and it wasn’t even ten yet. I stepped from the elevator and scanned the placard above the doorway.
Behavioral Health Center.
What the hell, Mom? This was too much, I screwed up, but I didn’t need some stranger telling me how to feel about it. I’d drank too much, as usual, fallen asleep in a running car… in the garage. It hadn’t been some grand gesture, I hadn’t wanted to die. I’d wanted to fucking sleep. I’d wanted the pain to stop. I’d wanted my parents to listen. I’d wanted winter break to be over, tired of living in the shadow of my mother’s worried gaze and my father’s disappointed glares. Everything had become too—heavy. How could I help my mom when she didn’t think I was capable? How could I make him understand that you don’t walk out on your family and then expect them to take you back with open arms when your new life falls through? I’d never planned on drinking the whole bottle of Absolut. I’d meant to escape for a while, drive down to the beach, but I’d passed out in the front seat of my car with the engine running. An accident. Plain and simple.
A long, knowing sigh spilled from my lips. It wasn’t simple. I was man enough to acknowledge the truth. The very “sameness” that had escaped me—everything I thought I could handle—had me pushing through these damn clinic doors. The waiting room appeared blessedly empty, but as I rounded the corner, my heart stopped.
Shit.
I took two, maybe three, quick steps backward.
Why was she here?
My tongue suddenly fat in my mouth as I peeked around the corner. A familiar dry feeling coated my throat, the feeling that made my fingers tremble, made me want to find the closest bar and grab a beer, a feeling that balked at the words, sane and sober, and wished for drunk and quenched. I couldn’t deal with much more today. Being here was enough, but… I craned my neck to get a better look.
“Damn it,” I whispered.
It was her.
I closed my eyes, clenched my jaw, as I recited the words I’d told myself before every race, before my hands cut through the water like blades, before my body brought home the win every time. I found a piece of myself behind the solitude.
I can do this. There is nothing that will ever stop me. I am fire.
Shallow breaths pulled through my lungs as I finally took a step forward. I focused on the corn silk color of her hair, the soft white of her skin, the way she sat with one leg curled under her body, the other dangling, her paint-covered shoe threatening to make me smile. The thing was, even though I’d like to pretend she was invisible, she’d been impossible to ignore. It had been impossible not to steal glances when I could, to wonder what she’d been thinking, and hating every single guy who had looked at her freely and with interest. From the first time I’d laid eyes on her, the first day of fall semester, in that darkly lit hallway between art studios, she’d haunted me. After that brief moment, I’d thought I’d never see her again, but she’d woven herself into my life, and part of me hated her for it.
Hated her paint-crusted fingernails, her shoes, her glowing cheeks, her funny little smiles. Hated her delicate lips, her laughs—never for me—the soft bend of her elbow, the light dusting of fine hair on the slope of her neck, and how, if I stared at her long enough, those very same hairs would stand and prickle with goosebumps.
She was too good for me.
She was his sister.
And I’d only ruin her.
“You should reconsider.” Professor Hintz frowned, his coal eyes scanning the drawing I’d handed him. “You have an artistic hand.”
“I won’t have the time this fall. I made captain.” My smile was smug and he shook his head.
“All this talent, Mr. Carter…” His fingertips brushed the page. Wistful and wanting. “I wish I would have had half of your talent when I was younger. You should be taking my class, not floating in some pool.”
My jaw flexed. “It pays my way, I don’t have the luxury of wasting away inside a studio like you.”
He chuckled and met my glower. “I suppose all that anger makes for a better artist in the end. I’m sure I can sell this piece tonight at the show. I’ll get you the funds by the end of the week.” He scanned the page again with a nostalgic exhale. “She looks sad, like she’ll never get to embark beyond the window she stares through. You captured her sorrow perfectly. Who is th
e subject?”
“My mother.”
He’d sold my drawing for two-hundred dollars that night, and when I’d gone to pick up the cash, I’d seen her there, staring at some painting on the wall next to the professor’s office. Her hair had been pinned to the side, her overalls too baggy on her fragile frame. Like a ghost, she’d whispered to herself, laughed quietly to no one at all, at least no one I’d seen. She’d passed by me, her eyes forward, like she hadn’t noticed I was there. Her scent had hovered around me, soaking me in sweet lavender, and when Professor Hintz had called my name, I’d wanted to leave the money behind, follow her, ask her name, find out if I’d imagined her, if maybe I’d overworked myself into a delusional state.
I hadn’t imagined her, though, or her scent, or her paint-stained fingers, that quiet smile. She turned out to be my teammate’s sister, a fucking cliché. Indigo O’Connell, the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my entire, pathetic life, was Royal’s twin sister. I had no other choice but to look the other way, to run. She was everything I could never have, everything I didn’t deserve.
I stared at her longer than I normally allowed myself, standing in the doorway of the therapy office waiting room. She lifted her eyes, and I swallowed as her ice blue irises caught me, assessed, a small smile working at the corner of her lips. I ignored her as I sat on the opposite wall. I kept my head down and pulled my phone from my pocket, avoiding her gaze. Acting like I didn’t know her, knowing I knew her better than she thought. The hair on the back of my neck stood, goosebumps raining down my arms as she watched me. Royal was more than my teammate. He was my best friend, and I’d purposely kept my distance from his sister. Never speaking to her directly, never allowing her into my world, assured I’d never be tempted. But sitting here, without any buffers, especially after what had happened last semester, I felt like an asshole. Staring at the blank screen of my phone, I thought, maybe if I stayed silent now, I could at least keep some things as they were. I didn’t need any more distractions, anymore reasons to fail, and she was definitely not good for my sanity. Besides practices, I wasn’t really speaking to her brother at the moment, either. At least, not yet, I wasn’t ready…
I clicked open the notifications on my phone and scrolled through the fifty or so messages from Royal. I was angry at myself for not texting him back over winter break, but after everything that had gone down, the fight, my academic probation, having to repeat the entire fucking semester, I’d made friends with the black and empty spaces inside my head. I wasn’t the leader he looked up to anymore. Shit, I needed this appointment more than I was ready to admit. I had nothing to offer him or his sister.
“Hi.” Her shy voice broke through the silence, and my mouth fell into a scowl.
Indie waited. Her wide, big blue eyes met mine, and my stomach sank. They were too clear. Too light, like she could see deeper than she had any right to.
“Hey.” I lifted my chin.
Christ, what did she see when she looked at me? The asshole who couldn’t text her brother back? A coward who couldn’t even look her in the eye for more than a couple of seconds?
Her smile confused me.
“Something funny?” I asked, sounding more irritated than I intended.
She mashed her lips together, fighting her smile. “Nope.” Her smile grew, and my grip on my cell tightened. “It just looks like you want to throw your phone.” Her eyes lowered to my hands, and I followed her gaze.
I shoved the damned thing into my pocket. Not offering conversation, I closed my eyes, like the asshole I’d gotten so good at portraying, and leaned back into the soft, vinyl cushion of the waiting room sofa.
“Did you check in?” she asked, and I opened one eye, the muscle in my jaw pulsing.
“No.”
“You have to check in. They won’t know you’re here, otherwise.”
“Thanks.” I stood from the couch and made my way to the front desk.
I filled out the necessary paperwork.
Name: Kai Carter
Age: Twenty-One
Reason for your visit: Depression. My mother made the appointment.
I filled out the form, dreading the next few minutes of scrutiny I’d have to endure inside the waiting room. Why was Indie-freaking-O’Connell sitting in that damn chair? I didn’t want anyone to know I was here. Shit, I’d been forced. I was under serious duress when my mom and dad had suggested it. High on carbon monoxide and my father’s vodka, I’d made a shitty decision, but I wasn’t depressed or suicidal. I’d admitted to my drinking problem and had sober handled. So I hadn’t expected my dad to be waiting for me when I’d arrived in Rockport for break. And maybe I didn’t give a shit that my father had come crawling back. What did it matter that I was pissed at my mom for forgiving him? Not a damn thing. Except… it meant everything. My entire life I’d always been compared to him.
You look so much like your dad. You have your father’s eyes. You have so much of your father’s determination.
Just like him.
I shook my head as I plopped down onto the sofa again, grimacing at the pain in my left shoulder. My heart rate increased as the pain shot down my arm. This pain. This goddamn pain hadn’t eased up since the fight. I didn’t want to think about how this shit would affect my race times. How this pain could affect my scholarship.
“You okay?” she asked, her concern only fortifying the wall I’d spent months building to avoid her.
No.
No, I wasn’t.
I wasn’t okay at all.
I hate Ellis and how he ruined everything with his ignorant mouth.
I hate what he said about Royal.
But mostly, I hate what he said about you.
These were the words that stewed inside my head, and I’d never speak them.
Ever.
I allowed myself to meet her gaze, avoiding the question. “Nice shoes.”
I was a sarcastic prick.
She laughed, dropping her leg and wiggling her feet. The white Chuck Taylors were covered in splashes of paint. Yellow and blue, red and pink. “I think so.”
“That’s right… your parents are hippies.”
“Painters,” she corrected, her pink lips curled into quiet dimples as she laughed.
The sound of it lifted some of the pain from my shoulder, and I chuckled, feeling lighter than I had all day.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her ghostly pale eyes appraised me, and I feared she’d see it, see the empty, shallow nothing inside.
I licked my lips, swallowing past all the doubt choking me as I asked, “For what?”
“I wish…” She bit her lip and shook her head. “It’s unfair, what happened, you should have—”
“What’s done is done.” I gave her a halfhearted smile and winced, the ache in my left arm throbbed as I shifted, uncomfortable under her gaze.
“You were there for him, when he needed it most, for both of them, Royal and Camden. You didn’t deserve to be punished. You were protecting your friends. My brother…”
I hadn’t missed the way her eyes had begun to swell with unshed tears. Shit. She shouldn’t be crying, not for me.
“It was reckless,” I admitted. “I could have grabbed Coach, I could have done a number of things that didn’t require my fist down Ellis’s throat.”
I shouldn’t have liked the way she smiled at my statement, or the way she hiccupped a little when she laughed.
“We never talk… but I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for protecting my family.”
I sat up straighter, wanting to be the hero she saw sitting on this couch. I wanted to be more than the guy who drank too much, the guy who could barely afford the textbooks in his backpack.
“I told Camden to tell Royal I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
She nodded, a quiet grin in her eyes. “Maybe you should tell him yourself.”
Indie lowered her eyes to the drawing she’d been working on in her notebook. I watched as her pencil moved fluidly o
ver the paper, only pausing to lift the book from her lap as she readjusted, pulling her foot under her body again. My stare lingered for a few seconds as I tried to figure out why she was here, sitting in the on-campus therapy office. Was Royal here? Was she waiting for him? Had what happened last semester messed him up, too? I suddenly wished I would have answered every text he’d sent. I should’ve called him, told him I didn’t regret what I had done, let him know that I envied him, that I would protect him and Camden every day if I needed to, that my silence was selfish, and he deserved so much more than a friend who couldn’t gather the courage to face his own shadow.
“I’ll call him today.”
Indie lifted her eyes. “He’d like that.”
Her attention fell to the page, and I dared a glance at the picture she’d been working on. It looked like a self-portrait, but half of it was faded and seemed to drift off the edge of the paper. Perhaps it was the fact her eyes were no longer focused on me, or maybe I’d found a voice inside her drawing, a kinship, that had me fumbling my words before I could stop them, creating some tie to her that I could hold onto, at least for the next five minutes.
“I’m thinking of taking an art class this semester.”
A warm blush tinged the arch of Indie’s cheek bones, her pencil hovering mid-stroke; she glanced at me from under long, straw-colored lashes. “Yeah?”
I nodded, my confidence hidden somewhere underneath the mass of unease growing inside my stomach. “Yeah… I’m thinking of dropping my upper-division writing class. The professor is a dick.”
She laughed and fiddled with the end of her side braid. She always had her hair pulled back, and I pushed down the wonder growing inside my fingertips. They itched to pull apart the black tie at the end of her braid. I could only imagine how pretty she’d look with her hair down, falling over her elegant neck.
Seven Shades of You Page 2
